Awaiting developments
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: Things don't always go Cowley's way


It took a while for the grey cells to connect. Water, lovely cooling water. So welcome on such a scorching day. His mind wandered back to walks in the hills with his dad. He recalled the glittering trout streams and how his patient father had taught him to 'tickle trout'. He smiled at the memory. He lay on his back looking up at the clouds …

"Come on, Sunshine. Wakey-wakey."

That didn't sound like his father. He reached for the memory. He knew it was lurking in a far corner somewhere. Not finding what he was looking for, he cranked open one eye.

"That's the way. Can you manage the other?"

The face brought Doyle back to the here and now. It took a while for his mind to reassemble – to leap from his childhood to his adulthood. As he was working it out, his friend slipped an arm under his shoulders and heaved Doyle into a near sitting position. He pressed a plastic bottle to his lips. Doyle felt the fresh water wetting his parched lips, then sliding across his tongue and on down his scorched throat. He felt his body relaxing into Bodie's. He let his friend tip the water gently in until it was all gone and he was eased back onto the bed.

"More later."

"When did you learn first aid? I thought you had a headache the last course you were meant to do."

Bodie grinned. "Your memory's coming back."

Bodie was more relieved than he let on. Doyle had said that he wasn't feeling well that morning. He'd even confessed to Cowley before they were given their assignment. Cowley had grumbled – agents hadn't time to be ill. But he had conceded to put Doyle in front of a doctor when they came back that evening with Petersen and his gang of four. Cowley wasn't going to admit – even to himself – that Doyle was looking very pale.

So they had set off, Doyle munching aspirin on the way, to Heron Quays. There they were to await a consignment of something illegal coming in by barge. Agents Harris and Blake were meant to be joining them there but, as they were pulling in half a mile away, Bodie was informed that they'd been diverted to the next wharf along as the gang had split up unexpectedly and commandeered a second craft. Bodie and Doyle cautiously covered the rest of the way to the wharf on foot. An agent, Dooley, bobbing along on a coal barge, had radioed in the position of the boats. It was going to be about an hour before one reached Heron Quays.

"Might as well make ourselves comfortable," Bodie had suggested, casting round for something suitable. He found a camp bed, a stove and a few bottles of water. They were disappointed that there wasn't a kettle or other rations. Either the gang had already used this area for a recce, or some squatters had been here recently. Doyle found an old blanket and some sacking which could do as a pillow.

"Wake me up when something happens," Doyle said, already making himself comfortable on the narrow bed.

On this occasion, Bodie didn't complain. His partner was definitely not ops ready. Cowley shouldn't have allowed him to come. Bodie just had to hope that Petersen hadn't picked up any followers along his route. Time dragged by. Bodie had radioed in but there was no news of the barges' progress. It was well past its rendezvous time. Bodie paced then went over to his mate. He was sound asleep and looked restless. Bodie placed a hand to his friend's forehead. A definite fever. He sighed and continued pacing. The crackle of the R/T made him jump. He hadn't realised that he was wool gathering. He answered it guiltily and was told that both boats had pulled in down river. Dooley couldn't see clearly what was happening in the dark. There was no pier but he thought that one or more of the gang had disembarked up the tidal steps for reasons unknown. They couldn't unload the boats from there. What was going on? Bodie swore under his breath. If everything had gone to plan - if the gang had done what Cowley anticipated them to do - Bodie could have taken half the gang on his own and Doyle could have continued his beauty sleep – Harris and Blake could have taken down the others. Now – God knows what was going on. He looked down on his mate. Could he be of any use at all? Only one way to find out. Bodie shook his partner vigorously. Doyle managed to crank his eyes open.

"Have they arrived?" he asked, trying to sit up.

Bodie looked worried. "Change of plan, Sunshine."

"We're going home?"

"You should be so lucky. No, Petersen and his mates have gone walkabouts somewhere downstream."

Doyle looked puzzled. Perhaps there was something he hadn't been told while he'd been asleep. "Why?"

"Bugger knows," Bodie replied hotly. "But we need to keep awake, mate, in case they're heading this way …"

"… for reasons unknown."

"That's about it."

Bodie was worried about the unexpected change of tack, but pleased that Doyle's mind was working at least – though he probably couldn't hit a pig in a barrel at the moment.

Doyle swung his legs off the bed and let his dizziness subside before attempting to get up. Bodie tried not to watch; he'd be too tempted to help him. Doyle flexed his shoulders and took a deep breath. He tried to walk casually to the window, every joint aching. The river looked very peaceful; just a few small craft bobbing about in the dark. Some offices still had lights on and they were mirrored in the rippling water. He could have watched all day. He had a raging thirst but remembered that there were only a few bottles of water left, so they'd have to ration themselves. He glanced at his watch. They'd been here over four hours already. It had been dusk when they'd arrived. Pitch dark now.

"Perhaps they've called off," Doyle murmured hopefully.

Bodie didn't reply. They weren't that lucky. After half an hour or so, Doyle crept guiltily back to bed. He didn't think his legs could last out much longer. Bodie said nothing.

And so, several hours later in the early hours, Bodie got the order to stand down. Nothing doing tonight. Surveillance would be kept on the barges but Petersen and his gang were still out there somewhere and up to no good. That they hadn't made contact with either of the quays suggested that they weren't going to now. Perhaps they'd got wind that they were being watched. So Bodie had roused Doyle with a cool face wash and a good slug of water. What a waste of time it had all been.

As Doyle reacquainted himself with the use of his legs, Bodie was putting things back in place. He didn't want Petersen and crew to know that anyone had been here. Then he heard a noise and the definite sound of whispered oaths as someone stumbled in the darkness outside. He turned back to see if Doyle had heard it. He was leaning against the wall and had reached for his gun – as alert as he could be. Bodie nodded in satisfaction. He eased himself into the shadows, hackles raised and gun drawn. The gang were being cautious but Bodie was on them in a moment. The gunfight was short and on Bodie's side. Doyle felt a bullet whistle dangerously close to his head and he reacted automatically. He was satisfied to see a sniper slump through the doorway. Silence then seeped through the warehouse. Bodie cautiously got back to his feet unscathed. He counted their haul. Two dead over by the cotton bales. He moved back to where he'd last seen his friend. He stepped over the body blocking the door. Ray was still operating then, Bodie thought to himself with relief. The sniper was bleeding heavily. Bodie coldly calculated that, at that rate, he'd be dead within ten minutes. He thought he'd keep that prognosis to himself. Doyle had a habit of wrestling with his conscience. Bodie frisked the casualty, as he had with the others. He was collecting quite an arsenal.

"That's a fine piece of …" Bodie started as he entered the room, weighing the gun in his hand appreciatively.

He found his friend slumped against the wall. Bodie was at his side in a moment. He felt the pulse at Doyle's neck.

"Just a bit sleepy all of a sudden," Doyle slurred.

Still anxious, Bodie frisked his friend. There were no holes where there shouldn't be any. Bodie let out the breath he'd been holding.

"I better take care of that, Raymond," Bodie said, easing the gun out of Doyle's hand, "In case you take me out."

Doyle grinned lopsidedly and slowly slid sideways, oblivious to the world and its vagaries. Bodie radioed in their position. Blake and Harris had been packing up their op while Bodie and Doyle had been taking out the opposition. They drove over quickly to Heron Quays once they heard Bodie's report. On arrival, they barely gave the dead a second glance.

"How's Ray?" Blake asked. He and his partner knew that Doyle was under the weather.

"See for yourself," Bodie said, inviting them in.

Doyle was sprawled awkwardly against the wall. The agents looked anxiously at each other.

"He was still able to take 'em down before he dozed off," Bodie announced proudly as they looked down at their colleague.

Bodie slung Doyle over his shoulder, as light as a child, and they trudged off to Blake's car and home. What an evening.


End file.
